Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hyakinthos surfaced from a fathoms-deep sleep with only the barest awareness of the physical world: a tickle under their chin, soft sheets, the combination of afternoon sun and snoring companion warming their bones. They lingered a while in that in-between state, breathing the faint scents of salt, sweat and varnish, letting restless dreams dissipate in the light. 

Whether they were good or bad dreams, Hyakinthos couldn't say – only that they left behind a feeling they couldn’t puzzle out, right where their living heater’s hand lay, skin on bare skin. The room itself was pleasantly warm, but some pressing matter Hyakinthos could not quite recall kept them from slipping back into true rest. With a groan, they pulled their partner closer. Too small and light to be Hades – who, Hakinthos recalled suddenly, was not currently on speaking terms with them. Blinking the sun-glare from their heavy eyes, the first thing they noticed was something red and furred and very close to their face. It flicked as its owner mumbled in his sleep.

Very much awake now, Hyakinthos lay as still as they could. A feline-humanoid familiar of some kind – concerningly thin in aether, but certainly easy on the eyes. Hyakinthos scoured their memory but could not recall such a striking familiar accompanying anyone they knew. Their mutual lack of clothing unsettled Hyakinthos; they were not so free with their affection as to lie with a familiar.

Their surroundings – rustic, sparsely decorated – were also unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, and wrong. Hyakinthos wrinkled their nose, trying to shake off the feeling, but it persisted. A buzzing in their ears. Perhaps it was the aether here – thin, like ink dropped into a puddle. An illusion? If so, it was expertly crafted – details like wood grain, the finely fuzzed ears, and faint stench of sweat spoke of a skilled mage. Who and why? It was too elaborate for even Hythlodaeus’s pranks, and furthermore impossible considering—

Considering what?

“Something on your mind?” Red eyes blinked slowly up at Hyakinthos.

Hyakinthos decided to play along. “Something like that.” The familiar’s easy demeanour could be taken as complicity or innocence alike.

“You need not speak of difficult topics,” it said with a lop-sided smile. “Here, barring any apkallu stampedes or world-ending furnace fires, we may, for once, rest easy.”

“Apkallu stampedes?” Hyakinthos sifted through their mental catalogue but came up empty – a new concept, perhaps. They’d been away from the city a while this time. Though, when they thought about it, they couldn’t recall exactly how long. It was hard to concentrate with all this noise in their head.

Slitted eyes twinkled. “I admit, that was charitable of me…though you’d be surprised how much damage four determined cloudkin can cause, to say nothing of morale.”

“Oh?”

As they hoped, the familiar continued talking, shifting against Hyakinthos’s shoulder. “It was a long time ago…they must have been driven south from Rak’tika. Imposing creatures, those rails, nothing like our little apkallu. It took weeks for the amaro to settle down again…”

Hyakinthos offered a soft laugh. “How did you manage that? And how long is a long time ago, exactly?”

“Oh a few decades before your arrival, if I recall correctly…though as Lyna reminds me, my memory is not what it once was.” The familiar had a faraway look in its eyes.

A response was not required, apparently. Hyakinthos suspected their own memories were muddled due to some disorienting spell or other. The background of internal static grew louder. Try as they might, they could not sense the seams of this glamour, let alone its structure. If only they had Hythlodaeus’s eyes, or better yet, the man himself. Unlike Hades, Hythlodaeus would take waking up in bed with a strange familiar in stride.

“...are you feeling quite alright, Amih?”

They coughed. “Uh…bad dreams.” A half-truth – Hyakinthos had a hazy recollection of red skies and rubble, but there was too much going on to properly make sense of it. And what did it just call them?

The familiar drifted a finger back and forth over Hyakinthos’s collarbone. “Would that I could do more. I fear my magicks are of no use in this situation…”

Its despondence seemed genuine. Hyakinthos began to consider the possibility they were both trapped in this illusion, enclosure, pocket dimension, whatever it was. Though memory magic was generally a difficult and inexact art, a familiar’s simpler mind was easy to muddle for any decent mage. Or they could be wrong and the familiar was as much a fabrication as the bed they lay in.

“...but there is little point in repeating myself. My apologies, for trying your patience once more.”

“Don’t apologise.” Hyakinthos grasped the familiar’s hand, intending to move it away. It gripped tighter instead.

“Indulge me,” it said with a little laugh. “Or rather, let us speak of lighter matters. This is supposed to be a vacation, is it not?”

“I’ve always dreamed of one,” said Hyakinthos mildly, lying very still.

“Let the mammets take care of everything today.” The familiar brought their joined hands to its cheek and spoke in a low fond tone. “You deserve this rest.”

Just as Hyakinthos thought the familiar was getting too cosy for comfort, it dropped a kiss on the back of their hand, then their cheek, then—

“Right then!” Hyakinthos removed themselves with great efficiency.

The familiar scrambled into a sitting position, ears drooping. “Amih…?”

The unfamiliar term of address sent Hyakinthos’s tail thrashing against the bedside table. Their long, fuzzy tail. “Oh for the love of Etheirys…!”

Running a frantic hand through their hair revealed it to be shoulder-length, black, and accompanied by a pair of sensitive ears. Hyakinthos cursed the mage responsible for this nonconsensual transformation spell, though any trace of the caster's identity had long since faded.

The familiar raised its hands in a placating gesture. “Peace, Amih.”

Hyakinthos cleared their throat. “As much as I love playing the fool, this show is beginning to drag. Tell me what you want from me.”

“What?” To Hyakinthos's consternation, the familiar turned as red as its hair and fur. “I don’t–that’s not what I–ahem.”

“Then who do you answer to? I have questions and criticisms in equal measure, and I’d prefer to discuss them somewhere more comfortable. Corporeal, even.”

The familiar’s serious expression was at odds with his near-naked state, though part of Hyakinthos was relieved to see they both kept their smallclothes on.

“Your eyes,” said the familiar slowly. “...what are you?”

“How rude.” Hyakinthos sighed. “Then let us assume you’re as innocent and unwilling a participant as I am. Hyakinthos, at your service.” They swept an arm down into a mock bow. “My apologies for prolonging this farce – I was uncertain of your intentions.”

“...my name is G’raha Tia,” said the familiar, sounding much older now. He rose, retrieving a crystal-topped staff from beside the bed. “I must ask that you clarify yours – the owner of that body is very dear to me.”

“As you have made clear as crystal. And I have no intentions of occupying it any longer than necessary, if that is truly what’s going on here.” Hyakinthos cast around and located a linen shirt draped over a chair. They shook out a pair of wrinkled dark pants and pulled those on too, trying to ignore the clamour in their head.

“How generous of a voidsent…” murmured G’raha. “No traces of a spell. A trap?”

“I’ve been called worse,” said Hyakinthos as they ambled over to the window. So the familiar couldn’t sense anything either. Hyakinthos’s own senses felt dampened, as if in deep water. Closing their eyes only confirmed that the dilution of aether extended throughout this land – at least until the ocean. An island, and not one they knew. Curiosity sparked in their chest, but sputtered before that vague sense of urgency Hyakinthos couldn’t shake. “Where are we?”

G’raha began to dress himself. “An island off the coast of Vylbrand.”

“And Vylbrand is…?” Hyakinthos stared at the horizon as if it might offer answers.

“A much larger island, located southwest of the continent Aldenard.”

“I see.” The illusion hypothesis was still viable, but so was transporting a spirit to distant lands. Hyakinthos considered themselves well-travelled, yet not a single location G’raha named sounded familiar. Nor could they feel any familiar aetherytes, though there were a few they did not recognise, which meant that some force was blocking their awareness, or they were destroyed and did not exist anymore. Amaurot’s central square flashed through their mind. Destroyed, then.

Nursing their worsening headache, Hyakinthos sighed again. “I’ll ask again: who do you answer to?”

G’raha tugged his scarf into place and began to plait his hair – a much shorter tail compared to Hyakinthos’s original body’s twin braids. “I belong to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. An organisation devoted to serving the realm – or so we were, as we’re technically disbanded,” he explained in response to Hyakinthos’s blank stare. “For appearances, largely. By design, we do not answer to any particular city-state or nation…or person, to answer your question. As for mine…” Though his voice remained pleasant, his gaze sharpened. “What have you done with Amih’s spirit?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Hyakinthos. Soulcraft was not their area of expertise, but if they were truly possessing this body, some trace of the original occupant should remain. Yet there was nothing, only a constant background noise like muffled shouting they couldn’t tune out.

This answer did not endear them to the familiar. “Forgive me if I am given to doubt…assuming you tell the truth however, know you a mage with a grudge against the Warrior of Light?”

“Who?” Hyakinthos scowled at the flamboyant title.

“Am–T’amih. T’amih Mikh.” G’raha gripped his staff tightly, but Hyakinthos was now highly doubtful this familiar posed any threat. His protectiveness spoke louder than any affectionate gestures. And Hyakinthos was increasingly convinced their goals aligned.

“Never heard of them,” said Hyakinthos with a shrug. “Before today, at least. Now, give me a moment, this noise is getting unbearable.”

Turning inwards, Hyakinthos found the noise to originate from several entities. Passengers. Perhaps one of them would have something useful to say about their current predicament. Holding out a hand, Hyakinthos created a frame, stabilised with astral energy, weaving a series of vessels with blinding aether—

Crack . “Augh!” Hyakinthos recoiled as the spell shattered. 

G’raha’s staff was raised. “What are you doing?!”

“A power dampener?” Hyakinthos muttered. It didn’t feel like one. Less pressure, more…emptiness. They swallowed their unease. With an irritated wave of the hand, Hyakinthos drew the skeleton of their interrupted spell back together. The room swayed.

“You’re low on aether. What were you trying to do?”

“Hush and let me concentrate.” Power gathered in their fingertips. “I suppose I’ll settle for just the one.”

Now cognizant of their limits, Hyakinthos proceeded with more care. They reached for the first entity they could sense but it slid away, melting back into the chaos of their soul. The second was more agreeable. Light filled the room once more. 

“Oh!”

A shimmering silhouette sharpened into a youth with wide eyes, round cheeks and long silver-blue hair. Long ears tapered outwards into points.

“You’re awake.” The summoned being addressed Hyakinthos with a quavering voice. “I wondered if we would ever meet…”

“Do you know this child?”

G’raha looked just as lost as Hyakinthos, though he kept a firm grip on his staff. “I’m afraid not. What manner of spell is this?”

“Simply one that gives form to one of your lover’s many passengers . Were you not aware?”

“I–no…no I was not.” G’raha fell silent.

Hyakinthos shrugged. “Name yourself, boy.”

“...I am called Myste, ser.”

“I gather you’re aware of the situation?”

The boy peered up at Hyakinthos. “We only wanted to ease his pain…”

G’raha took a step forward. “Please, tell us what has befallen Amih.”

Myste did not look at G’raha. “It was not within my power. But he is far more powerful than I, even if he does not realise it. And you…” Hyakinthos held back a shiver as this fragmented creature turned its soulful eyes on them. “How deep your sorrow…how stifling the guilt. The need for atonement. If he trusts you to carry it for him, for just a little while…”

“That’s rather presumptuous of you,” said Hyakinthos lightly. “Speak plainly, if you would.” It would not require much aether to dive into the creature’s mind, get answers directly, but the summoning spell was unexpectedly draining – Hyakinthos did not want to collapse in unfamiliar territory.

“Forgive me. Your memory…you cannot recall that which is most important to you,” said Myste with wonder in his voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry. ”

Hyakinthos gritted their teeth. Empathic creations were such a pain. “Unless you have a practical suggestion, I’d prefer you keep out of my head, thank you.”

“You’re missing memories?” asked G’raha in surprise. “Perhaps the answer lies in what you cannot recall…don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

Myste stared at Hyakinthos. “Would you like to see him again?”

“What?”

“Oh my, this is quite the gathering,” came a lilting voice from the doorway. A lavender-haired man ambled into the room, grey robes swaying, bared face beaming.

“Aah!” The pressure in Hyakinthos’s skull spiked and left them gasping. Red skies, rubble, a retreating back. A dimly lit kitchen, late nights and deep conversation. A lullaby, hummed. The steps of the Bureau, open arms welcoming them home.

Hythlodaeus caught them as they staggered. “Kinth! Are you alright?”

Fury choked their throat. “How dare you.”

Myste looked from Hythlodaeus to G’raha back to Hyakinthos, hands raised in helpless apology. “P-please, if you would just listen—”

Hyakinthos growled, magicks flaring, but Hythlodaeus held them back. “Peace, love. Let us hear him out…” Against their better judgement, Hyakinthos peered up into concerned violet eyes. Behind the achingly familiar features lay a swirling mass of umbral aether. Stretched thin, like the rest of this farcical world. Hyakinthos wished it was all an illusion.

“Forgive me, forgive me…”

Hyakinthos tore their gaze away and took a deep breath. “Dispel this shade at once.”

Myste jumped. “I–I’m sorry, I could not stand idle, if only you could feel–ah!” He wilted under Hyakinthos’s glare. “Th–the magick will run its course, the aether soon returned to you…did you not wish for him to stay?”

“Oh you little thief,” mumbled Hyakinthos, trying to ignore the boy’s final barb.

“I can’t say I’ve ever modelled for a simulacrum before,” said Hythlodaeus cheerfully, keeping an arm around Hyakinthos. “I’m flattered.”

Hyakinthos faltered. The Hythlodaeus of their memories was full of life and mischief, and his touch – so casual, after so long – stole their rage away.

“You’re an Ancient,” said G’raha with wonder. At Hyakinthos’s look, he shook his head. “Ah, that’s what we call your kind. And you are Hythlodaeus, are you not? Our meeting was brief, but…”

Hythlodaeus raised a polite eyebrow. “Have we met? I’m rather proud of my memory, yet I cannot recall your colour…”

“He won’t know,” said Hyakinthos shortly. “Not if I don’t.”

“Ah, of course,” said G’raha, blushing slightly. “You…remember everything, then?”

“I remember enough.” The world ended, and here they were. “None of which explains our current situation.” 

“It worked, thank the Fury,” murmured Myste. “A world in which you never had the chance to bid him farewell…it was too painful to think about.”

“Quiet, you. I didn’t ask for this,” said Hyakinthos with a barely suppressed snarl. “Toying with minds without permission is like to get you dissembled.”

“What a curious power.” Hythlodaeus brought a hand to his chin, examining the boy with bright eyes. “Empathy is a useful trait but dangerous when taken too far in the wrong direction…might I know the name of your creator?”

“Never mind that,” interrupted Hyakinthos. “What of the rest of you? And the so-called Warrior of Light?”

Myste looked taken aback. “It is our duty to watch over him. We who have nowhere else to go but back to him. We who love him…”

“If you are Amih’s Ancient, then it is possible he hasn’t gone anywhere,” said G’raha thoughtfully. “The Scions have encountered cases like yours in the past. Unlike you, however, they were woken deliberately with the aid of a memory crystal.”

“Oh? Members of the Convocation?” The mystery deepened – Hyakinthos had no such crystal, nor anyone to create one in their memory.

“Yes…which makes your awakening unique,” mused G’raha. “T’amih never left my side last night, and those who performed these awakenings are gone, to our knowledge, even if you belong to the Fourteen…”

“I do not,” said Hyakinthos shortly. 

G’raha frowned in confusion. “I was under the impression you—”

“Quite the quandary,” said Hythlodaeus. “Perhaps it was be prudent to seek answers elsewhere.”

“Regardless, I shall update the Scions – Y’shtola and Urianger will have their own suggestions. I must first ask however,” said G’raha, turning to Hyakinthos with a burning look. “Are you truly willing to give up that body, now that you have your memories?”

“...and if I said no?”

“Then that would bring us into conflict, unfortunately. We will fight for him.”

Hyakinthos grinned. “It seems he is well-loved. Worry not – I will not take what is yours.” The world Hyakinthos strove to save was gone, and only failure remained.

“He’s not–I mean,” said G’raha with a cough. “I’ll just, er, make a quick call.” And with that, he hurried from the room.

“Awfully transparent, isn’t he,” said Hythlodaeus with a laugh. “As brave as you are cruel.”

Hyakinthos shrugged. “You always said I’m at my worst when tired. And I am…exhausted.”

Hythlodaeus led them back to the bed, sinking down and leaning Hyakinthos against him. “Shall we take an afternoon nap?”

As tempting as it was, Hyakinthos couldn’t quite relax with Myste still in the room. “Not until I have answers.”

The boy stared intently at them. “You have been asleep for a very long time.”

Despite knowing it was futile, Hyakinthos growled. “Do not speak as if you know me.”

“Why? I feel as though I have known you all my life…”

“Myste, was it?” Hythlodaeus wore a polite smile. “Are your fellows as fond of talking in circles as you are?”

“I don’t have it in me to summon any more of them,” said Hyakinthos wearily as Myste blinked at Hythlodaeus.

“You are looking rather pale,” said Hythlodaeus. “If only we knew a man with a soft heart and near-bottomless well of aether…”

Hyakinthos groaned. “That’s not a conversation – or shouting match – I’m ready for yet.”

“Will you ever be ready?” said Myste quietly. “The chasm lies wide, his sacrifice heavy in the space between…”

Hyakinthos cast a silencing spell on the boy. Reclaiming their aether was a simple task, but first…

“Hyth.”

“Hmm?” The shade began to stroke their hair.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry I did not try harder to stop you.”

“I can only tell you what you believe. I have no regrets.” He pressed a kiss against Hyakinthos’s forehead. “Now, do not fret – since when has he ever failed to heed your call?”

“I know.”

Hyakinthos stood, aether swirling around them until they were alone once more.

*

On the walk down to the shoreline, G’raha Tia caught up with Hyakinthos. He arranged a meeting, he said, with a handful of Scions. A short boat ride to Limsa, then a longer journey north to Sharlayan. Hyakinthos agreed easily, considering the alternative. Hythlodaeus had far too much faith in his partners. Besides, it would be a lie to say Hyakinthos was not at least a little curious about this new world they found themselves in.

It appeared they gained some measure of trust, for G’raha left them to explore alone, though not after bombarding Hyakinthos with questions and answering plenty of their own (with greater magnaminty than Hyakinthos themselves). As it turned out, G’raha was not a familiar but a man of this new world – diluted in aether, just like its inhabitants. The gods were indeed dead. And Hyakinthos had no home to return to.

Dusk tinted the world blue by the time they arrived back at the beach house, pondering the information gleaned from the familiar. More questions for another day. For now, Hyakinthos was content to observe the local fauna – green flightless birds, shy lizards, leaping fish – as the island’s diurnal inhabitants settled in and their nocturnal counterparts began their day. Their regular routine was a comfort to Hyakinthos who was feeling utterly unmoored. They exhaled. The steady chorus of crickets quietened as Hyakinthos stepped through the door, closing it behind them.

“Ah, you’re back.” G’raha looked up from his book. “You must be tired. I prepared a little something – I hope it’s to your taste. Kudos, of course, to the mammets for the fresh ingredients.”

A small tray of sandwiches sat on the table with a jug of water. Hyakinthos leaned on a chair. “Eorzean hospitality? How generous.” Paper wrapping crinkled as Hyakinthos took a bite. Crisp and tangy.

G’raha blushed easily, they noted. “Ah, my apologies…I er, mistook you for a voidsent. A denizen of the thirteenth shard,” he clarified. “Creatures hungry for aether and known for possessing those in the Source. A logical conclusion at the time, if an altogether too hasty one.”

“No offence taken.” Hyakinthos helped themselves to another sandwich. It would take some time to get used to this body’s rhythms – they were hungrier than they thought. “Though these make for fine recompense.”

“I’m glad you like them.” G’raha avoided Hyakinthos’s eyes. They suspected they were not the meal’s intended recipient.

Hyakinthos poured themselves a drink. “Does this form make you uncomfortable?”

“I- I wouldn’t say—” G’raha waved his book about. “It’s just…an odd feeling. You’re like him in some ways, but not others. And your eyes – are all Ancients like that?”

Hyakinthos walked over to a window. A stranger’s reflection peered back against the darkness. High wide cheekbones with tapered streaks flanking a dainty upturned nose. Red petal-like markings below straight brows, full lips. Whatever colour the eyes used to be, they now glowed a glittering black.

Hyakinthos drained their glass and sat down. “If I could wear a mask, I would. I understand that’s not a custom that survived.”

“There are those in the Black Shroud like the Wailers who don wooden masks…but you’re right. Luckily Amih’s face is not well-known.”

Hyakinthos raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression he held some fame – a hero of sorts, by the sound of the title, celebrated in song and play.”

“Oh no, he is very much a hero,” said G’raha with a wistful smile. “Albeit shy one with a fondness for heavy armour. If you elect to travel without it, we may be able to avoid troublesome questions.”

“Hmm.” Hyakinthos did prefer to wear light armour underneath their travelling cloak, but perhaps the sundered peoples developed heavier protections with different techniques – ones that relied less on ambient aether. “You’re rather distinctive yourself – I doubt anyone would mistake us for wandering vagrants, much less heroes incognito.”

G’raha shook his head, a complicated expression on his face. “That should not be a concern. Though we have gone on journeys here and there, the public know Amih as an adventurer accompanied by either a few of the Scions, other adventurers, or no one at all.”

Hyakinthos nodded. They themselves were known more for being a nuisance to the Third Seat than as his travelling partner. “As much as you wish otherwise, I’m sure. My heartfelt apologies for being such a poor substitute.”

“No, not at all!” G’raha began to wave his hands, but sagged. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I’m well aware this could all be a lot worse.”

“Oh my,” said Hyakinthos mildly. “And where does that confidence of yours come from? For all you know, I could be an interloper, here to whisk away your hero to some faraway castle…”

G’raha considered them calmly. “I’m reasonably confident you are the original soul from whence Amih came, though I have only conjecture and gut feeling to back up my claims. As much as you are two different people…you remind me of him. You talk a lot more than he does, while at the same time saying very little, but I don’t think you’re lying.”

“I’ve shown my cards,” said Hyakinthos with a sweeping gesture, suppressing a grin. “Or all the cards I have, given the circumstances. I don’t think we’ll be getting much more out of Myste, for one.”

“Ah, yes…” G’raha looked troubled. “I wasn’t aware of his existence, though there is much of his life Amih does not talk about. Once we arrive in Old Sharlayan, let us try pooling our aether and summoning his compatriots.”

Hyakinthos grimaced. “If they’re anywhere near as cryptic as that child…”

G’raha laughed softly. “We won’t know until we try.”

“And you’ll keep trying,” muttered Hyakinthos. G’raha tilted his head. “Nothing. He is lucky to have you.”

“...it is the other way around.” G’raha said quietly. “He has always been my hero…and never mine alone.”

“A man of the people,” mused Hyakinthos. “Gone missing in mysterious circumstances. A chance for others to play saviour, with a sprinkling of self-discovery along the way.”

G’raha regarded Hyakinthos with an unreadable expression. “Are all Ancients fond of theatrical metaphors?”

“You keep calling me that. I’m just an Amaurotine,” said Hyakinthos. “And I would hardly call that a metaphor.”

“Amaurotines, then,” said G’raha without skipping a beat. “Forgive me, I have long held a fascination for the stories of old…”

“Given your lover, I am not surprised. Heroes attract storytellers like sausages attract Argos…”

“Hah! We all have our parts to play. As for me, I am content to remain a footnote in the hero’s journey.” G’raha closed his book. “I only hope it is one of success.”

Closing their eyes, Hyakinthos lay a hand on their chest where their mask would be. “No endings save the ones we create. And there is always a choice.”

Chapter Text

Compared to the pirate city’s deserted southern gate, the aetheryte plaza was lively and chaotic. Raised voices eddied in and out of the crowd, heavily accented and argumentative. Locals going about their daily routines mingled with deliverymen and fishmongers, easygoing sellswords and harried-looking merchants, a tableau set to a jaunty tune played by a a demure miqo’te fiddler, case lying open before him.

Clad neck-down in one of the Warrior’s less ostentatious sets of armour, Hyakinthos met little resistance as any pickpockets G’raha warned them about took one look at the greatsword and gave them up for easier prey. The rest of T’amih’s gear was stored in a pocket space Hyakinthos cast before they left the island. The Warrior travelled light – his only other notable possession was a worn spear.

G’raha’s staff wove and winked through the crowd, its signature crystalline sheen an easier landmark than the man himself, leading Hyakinthos towards the aetheryte. Earlier, passing through the dock town, Hyakinthos realised they could access the same aetherytes T’amih knew, but G’raha advised them to attune anyway, as the Amaurotine had no frame of reference for where exactly these aetherytes lay geographically.

Even from this distance, Hyakinthos could feel the humming network of aether but they reached out anyway to appease their guide, building a map in their mind. Some nodes felt impossibly distant and Hyakinthos hoped they would have the time to explore those, once the main business of T’amih’s disappearance was solved.

“That’s one task checked off the list,” said G’raha, clapping his hands together. “As I mentioned earlier, we’ll be catching a ship the rest of the way to Sharlayan. The docks are located at the end of the marketplace. I suggest you wander the stalls while I buy us passage – Limsa Lominsa is quite the trading hub, and you are not like to find such a collection of offerings anywhere else in Eorzea.”

“Then I shall peruse at my leisure.” Hyakinthos waved as G’raha disappeared back into the throng of bodies, mildly but pleasantly surprised to be left to their own devices. They found a slow-moving hyur to buffer the crowd and let the current take them. They passed weapons stores with simple but serviceable arms, vegetable stalls littered with trodden leaves, all different kinds of food hawkers…

Catching snippets of conversation – bartering, arguments, boisterous greetings – Hyakinthos ended up in a small outdoor square. From the balustrades, the lower levels of the city stretched out before them. There was another boardwalk where ships sat moored – practical vessels swarming with crew, small coloured blots from this high up. Despite the sun, the ocean remained murky and storm grey. 

This city with its white spires reminded them of another seaside town, one where researchers released and monitored concepts from Akademia Anyder. Hyakinthos wondered how many of those concepts survived. Knowledge and lives, lost to the maelstrom of a changing world, while Hyakinthos alone remained. They wondered if aught remained, ruined buildings perhaps, or fragments of crystal buried beneath the ground bones of tiny organisms, living and dying over countless millennia.

As Hyakinthos rejoined the stream of bodies, they passed by an eclectic band of what appeared to be adventurers: an armoured lalafell, a miqo’te rogue and a pair of Roegadyn. G’raha had informed Hyakinthos of the Sundered races, and they had seen a few around the dock town, but it was clear Limsa Lominsa attracted all sorts. The adventuring party were arguing about whether to buy potions or, by the sounds of it, hire the lalafell’s sketchy alchemist friend to craft some instead. Hyakinthos stifled a snort.

They continued to argue as they moved off towards the aetheryte plaza, the elderly stall holder giving them a glare. The stall beside the one they left displayed accessories: earrings, bracelets, and other knick knacks, including wind chimes and soapstone carvings. The Roegadyn shopkeep caught Hyakinthos’s eye and waved a big malachite hand. “Somethin’ caugh’ yer eye, adventurer? Got wardin’ stones, protective charms, tokens for yer sweetheart…”

Hyakinthos leaned in, examining the carvings. “This is some fine work – yours?”

The shopkeep laughed. “I know it’s ‘ard to believe, on accoun’ ‘o me ol hams here.” He wriggled his fingers. “I find it relaxin’.”

Hyakinthos’s gaze drifted to a pair of nesting figurines: a white cat squashed beneath a smug lavender fox. They couldn’t help but smile.

“Something caught your eye?” G’raha appeared at Hyakinthos’s shoulder, following Hyakinthos’s eye to the figurines. “Allow me – consider it a welcome gift.”

Hyakinthos raised an eyebrow. “There are easier ways to win my heart, you know.”

G’raha nearly dropped his coinpurse. “Ahem. Pray recall whose form you occupy, Hyakinthos.”

“Forgive me,” Hyakinthos demurred. They could feel the tip of their tail curling back and forth. “Then I shall gladly accept your goodwill.”

G’raha coughed again, but tipped a few coins into the merchant’s hand. The Roegadyn grinned. “Good choice, lad. You’ll win this one over yet.”

“He lives in hope,” said Hyakinthos automatically, ignoring G’raha’s reaction in favour of holding the figurines up to examine them more closely, stroking the fox’s ears between finger and thumb.

“Yes, well,” said G’raha tiredly. “We have some time before the ship departs, if there is ought else you wish to see…”

The shopkeep waved them off. “A visitor, were ye? An’ you, lad, yer a scholarly type?”

He directed them to the other end of the market, where G’raha ended up buying an embossed tome from an excitable Sea Wolf who could have been the shopkeep’s brother.

“He knows how to bring in sales, I’ll give him that much.” G’raha tucked the book under one arm, looking around. “Though I won’t deny I’m looking forward to reading this on the ship.”

Judging by its title, the book was a historical novel following a garrison of onion knights during a time of civil unrest. Hyakinthos glanced at the ornate cover. They did not recognise the style of armour, nor were they surprised – they had slept through several millennia of history.

G’raha watched their reaction. “‘Tis always interesting which facts authors take and which they leave…and imagination may fill in for the dearth of information we have regarding the Allagan empire. The libraries of Sharlayan are patient teachers, if you wish to know more.”

“I have you, don’t I?” said Hyakinthos with a lopsided smile. “A teacher so scholarly an ordinary shopkeep can sense it.”

G’raha laughed. “I won’t deny my own interest in the topic – ‘tis my chosen area of research, after all. I will teach you all you like…but first, let us fill our bellies before the voyage.”

Hyakinthos agreed with much enthusiasm. The street foods of Limsa could not rival the island’s fare for freshness but they made up for it with flavour and richness. G’raha bought a variety of fried snacks for them to share on the walk back to the docks, jostled here and there by fishmongers, housewives and delivery boys. Hyakinthos was particularly fond of the deep fried cheese skewers. 

With little in the way of public seating to be found, the two returned to the open air area separating the market stalls, hopping up on the great white stones that comprised Limsa’s architecture. 

“I know it can’t compare to your great cities of eld, but I always enjoy the hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa.” G’raha spun a skewer stick between his fingers. “It’s nostalgic…countless lives moving in and around one another like so many schools of tropical fish.”

Oil-stained paper bag scrunched in one fist, Hyakinthos watched a pair of lalafell hoist a crate with ease, carrying it carefully towards the dock-end of the market. Nearby, a qiqirn gesticulated wildly to a potential patron, snout bobbing. “Never have I encountered tropical fish so prone to genial arguments.”

“‘tis almost a sport, here in the markets. Ul’dah is worse,” said G’raha, shaking his head.

Another unfamiliar place. Hyakinthos wondered which of the aetheryte nodes they sensed corresponded to this Ul’dah, and whether it was one of the impossibly distant ones. G’raha seemed to catch the expression on Hyakinthos’s face, for he looked down into his lap.

“I know what it’s like to awaken in a strange world where time has moved on without you. I am here, should you have any questions.”

“Hmm.” Though part of Hyakinthos was curious about G’raha’s claim, most of them could not bring themselves to care very much at all. “Pray do not recant those words – I will be sure to pick your brain at every opportunity.”

“I would have it no other way,” said G’raha with good humour. “Though…perhaps on the ship? We are nearing departure time.”

“Then let us make for the docks.” Hyakinthos hopped off, stumbling a little as their body’s memory adjusted for their new tail. A small clash between inside and outside.

The docks were not as crowded as Hyakinthos expected. Old Sharlayan was not a popular destination with Limsans, it seemed, though their fellow passengers were a colourful bunch: merchants, craftsmen, artists and scholars…

The ship itself was both solid and graceful, a hefty creature captained by a no-nonsense miqo’te with what Hyakinthos now recognised as a heavy Limsan accent. A younger miqo’te lad waved them on board as she bellowed orders up and down the ship. Hyakinthos chose to remain on deck, making themselves as unobtrusive as possible so as not to be in the way. They thought they could see something of Limsa’s appeal to G’raha – the energy filling the air from a gathering of individuals under one banner was like nothing else.

Not that ocean voyages required this many hands in their world – the distant past, now – but Hyakinthos found themselves respecting the people of this new world for their ingenuity. G’raha had gone below decks, no doubt to give them space and also bury himself in his new book, but Hyakinthos knew they would eventually grow tired of solitude and barrage him with questions. The world had changed, but Hyakinthos had not, and the companions they usually relied on to salve their loneliness were not here.

A clanging bell interrupted their thoughts. With a chorus of creaking, the ship began to move. While Hyakinthos had been occupied, the flurry of activity had settled into a low buzz, with other passengers meandering out to catch the little sun they could. The wind was growing insistent, whistling through Hyakinthos’s armour, chilling the tips of their feline ears.

They wondered if their loved ones were watching them stumble forward, safely enveloped within the aetherial sea.

The voyage itself was largely uneventful. After falling in and out of conversation with a textiles merchant – Hyakinthos was relieved to find their new body no more prone to sea-sickness than their old one – G’raha joined them on deck, a bookmark with a red tassel peeking out from his new purchase. The two spent much of the journey near the ship’s bow, hiding out of the wind, G’raha telling Hyakinthos stories to pass the time. He had a knack for it, albeit also a tendency to get tongue-tied at the exciting bits. Some stories were of his research topic – the Allagan empire – and others were of folk heroes and myths. Occasionally, G’raha recounted tales of Eorzea’s Champion, narrating in a detached way that suggested he wasn’t present for the events, which Hyakinthos raised an eyebrow at but did not challenge.

Occupied as they were, it didn’t feel like long before Sharlayan came into view. It was a majestic city dominated by white marble and aquamarine tilework. One of the Twelve – G’raha had a fondness for mythology as well as ancient civilisations – guarded the harbour in the form of a towering statue with a vessel of water. Their ship was one of many moving through the harbour: deckhands, travellers and merchants added their voices to the din, each trying to outshout the other. Hyakinthos followed G’raha down the ramp, bouncing on their feet to get the landwobbles out.

After a suspiciously quick passage through customs (“You again? Go on.”) Hyakinthos found themselves winding up a series of stairs and cliffs into a modest building facing the sea.

“Raha!” A lalafell in a cat-eared hood smiled as they entered. Her gaze settled on Hyakinthos. “This does indeed seem as complicated as you said…Y’shtola is waiting in the main hall. I trust your presence will put her mind at ease, even if your explanation may not.”

“Thank you Krile. Let us wait there for the others,” G’raha said to Hyakinthos, leading them towards an ornate door.

The lalafell’s eyes widened at Hyakinthos, but her expression quickly settled into a strained smile. “Welcome to Baldesion Annex, friend. I must ask for your patience as we await the rest of our comrades; please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Hyakinthos bowed slightly, wondering how to open the upcoming conversation. They were grateful they would only have to tell their story once. “My thanks.”

Their destination turned out to be a spacious room with various sketches and diagrams plastered over the walls, including an enormous map. Benches and tables lined one side, while the other was cluttered with chairs, ladders and crates. Seated near the door was an elegant miqo’te in a black dress who looked up from her book. “Alphinaud and Alisaie send their apologies,” she said smoothly by way of greeting. “The restoration team could not spare them. Rest assured they are most anxious to hear your report – as are we all.” Her blind white eyes rested on Hyakinthos.

“I will keep them updated,” said G’raha. “In person, if I must.”

“Be sure to do so. It seems Estinien has slipped his leash once more, so we are down two Azure Dragoons...”

“Leave him to Tataru and I,” said Krile from the doorway. She sat next to Y’shtola. “He’ll be chomping at the bit to go after T’amih…wherever he’s gone.” She looked meaningfully at Hyakinthos.

“Well-loved indeed,” said Hyakinthos. “You’ve assembled quite the rescue team.” Both women gave off a formidable air.

Ker-chak. “Apologies for our lateness – we didn’t expect you’d find him so soon.”

Pushing open the doors was a white-haired man in a longcoat, accompanied by a robed Elezen.

“You’re right on time,” said Krile.

The shorter newcomer clapped Hyakinthos on the shoulder. “I thought I told you not to worry us like that. There are easier ways to arrange a friendly reunion, you know.”

Hyakinthos politely removed the stranger’s hand with their own. There was no tactful way to go about this – hurt, surprise, and confusion flickered across his handsome features.

“The situation is…more complicated than it appears,” said G’raha with a sigh. “Now that all are accounted for, introductions are in order. If you would…”

Hyakinthos inclined their head. “Pleased to make your acquaintance – would that the circumstances were fairer. My name is Hyakinthos and I have no interest in staying in here any longer than I must.” They gestured down their borrowed body.

“Amih’s er, original soul. The Amaurotine,” offered G’raha. Krile exhaled and Y’shtola leaned forward in her chair.

“Or whatever you’d like to call me. I awoke a few days ago thinking the world was ending – only to find that it already had. Now, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Y’shtola Rhul.” The miqo’te recovered first. “I believe we stand to learn a lot from each other.”

“My name is Krile, of the Students of Baldesion.” She gave a little nod. “Though soulcraft is not our specialty, I’m sure we’ll turn up something if we put our heads together.”

The white-haired newcomer sighed. “Nothing comes as a surprise anymore, I see…I’m Thancred, our resident reconnaissance specialist. Though my skills are of little use in such unfamiliar, and indeed incorporeal, territories…”

“Given our shared sojourn to the ends of the universe, thou must needs keep an open mind.” The Elezen bowed. “The pleasure is ours – Urianger, at thine service. Though what aid I am able to give be but modest, I too shall devote mine energies towards ensuring T’amih’s safe return.”

“And return safe he shall,” said Y’shtola. “In the meantime, we had best keep such information between ourselves and our comrades.”

“You’re right,” said Krile. “It will not do to cause undue panic. Thankfully, your appearance remains unchanged – though I don’t suppose you could do something about those eyes?”

“His eyes?”

“Deep as the night,” explained Urianger to Y’shtola. “And aglow with as many stars besides.”

“Hmm.” Y’shtola looked deep in thought.

“I was born this way,” said Hyakinthos with a shrug. “And it was suggested a mask might attract too much attention. Truth be told, I find helmets a little stifling with these ears–”

“More importantly,” interrupted Thancred. “Have we any leads? I find it hard to believe our dear friend just up and vanished without a word.”

“Without a word to his replacement or lover,” said Hyakinthos with a shrug. The man’s suspicion was reasonable, reassuring even.

“He can be elusive at the best of times,” conceded Y’shtola. “Perhaps it is a trait shared by Azure Dragoons.”

“We were meant to be taking a break together,” said G’raha slowly. “There was…no warning. Or, perhaps I failed to read him right…”

“Pray do not rush to blame thyself,” counselled Urianger. “‘Tis difficult to know the true mind of another, more so those we love.”

“I…you’re right, of course.” G’raha collected himself.

“Hast thou theories as to the culprit? Our friend’s fame is wont to attract villains as well as those who wish him well.”

“There was no one but us and the mammets,” said G’raha. “And I could not sense even the vestiges of a spell…”

“Accidents like this don’t just happen out of nowhere,” said Thancred with a grimace. “Are we certain he is safe? His personality has not been…overwritten, as in other cases we’ve seen?”

G’raha hesitated. “There was no memory crystal involved – as far as I’m aware, those were reserved only for Convocation members, of which Hyakinthos is not.”

Hyakinthos shrugged, letting him draw his own conclusions. Y’shtola tapped her chin, deep in thought.

“That does not rule out Ascian involvement, if you’ll recall Eden,” said Thancred. “Though whether there are any left who would have any reason to do so…”

G’raha pondered the question. “Are any of you familiar with a boy named Myste?”

“T’amih mentioned him in passing,” said Thancred as the others shook their heads. “Once or twice. Quite the troublesome brat, if I recall.”

“An understatement,” muttered Hyakinthos. “He seemed to have an idea of what’s going on, but you try wrestling anything useful out of that boy.”

“At the very least, Myste’s words suggest Amih is still safe in there somewhere, just dormant. Therefore I have a suggestion,” added G’raha. “You called him a passenger…how many others are there?”

Hyakinthos closed their eyes. “No more than a handful. My senses are not as sharp as they used to be.”

“Right,” said G’raha. “Then I’d like to try something, here and now if everyone is in agreement. Hyakinthos was able to manifest this…passenger, but lacked the aether to summon more. If we could provide that aether…”

“These passengers,” said Y’shtola. “What manner of creatures are they? And are they from without, or within?”

G’raha hesitated. “I’m not sure exactly what they are…Amih’s never mentioned them.”

“If I had to guess, they’re fragments of soul, imbued with will and purpose,” said Hyakinthos. “Though by who and how I could not tell you. They have…a familiarity to them, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” said Y’shtola, closing her eyes. “Very well. I agree to this plan.”

“Why not,” said Thancred. “Here’s hoping we’ll catch someone more or less helpful.”

Urianger held a hand to his chin. “Fragmentary creatures such as those will not last without a vessel, I fear.”

“I could try attuning…it would not be the first time I’ve acted as a mouthpiece. And this sounds far less taxing than transmitting the words of Hydaelyn herself,” said Krile with a wry look.

Hyakinthos’s heart thudded in their throat. “You spoke to Venat?”

“She spoke to me and through me, though I am not alone in my experiences, particular though they were. She had something to say to everyone here, I believe.”

The Scions wore expressions ranging from solemn to determined. It dawned on Hyakinthos that everyone in this room had lived through the end of the world. “Before we do this, you must tell me,” said Hyakinthos shakily. “Tell me how you forestalled the Final Days.”

Slowly, piecemeal, the Scions told the story of a flower, a bluebird and a desperate flight to the edge of the universe. Despair and hope and survival. Myriad questions rose rapid-fire through the swamp of Hyakinthos’s mind but sank as quickly as they came. They said nothing.

“No one knows what happened to Meteion after that,” said G’raha. “We were all too glad to have Amih back with us – and then there was celebrating and then more work to come. It feels like decades ago, though in truth it has been mere months.”

“So says the senior citizen,” said Krile. Her words sounded as if underwater. “But I agree. The world has moved on. Sometimes it feels too quick, but then other times…well, there’s a reason the twins couldn’t make it.”

G’raha’s mouth moved but his response went through Hyakinthos as if they themselves were a shade. A shade in a world cobbled together from scraps, yet vivid and dazzling.

“Excuse me for a moment,” went Hyakinthos’s mouth, and then they were outside. Wind rustled through the grass, the trees, their too-long hair, their strange ears. They picked a direction at random and began to walk.

After wending past a cliff and around a well-maintained gazebo, Hyakinthos turned and locked eyes with the figure tailing them.

Thancred closed the distance at an easy stride. “Forgive me for keeping an eye out,” he said cheerfully. “We only just met, after all, and you’ve quite the valuable bauble in your possession.”

“Do as you will.” Hyakinthos was grateful the man did not bother feigning concern. His attitude made their status as interloper and thief crystal clear.

The imposing building near the gazebo turned out to be a library. At a glance, Hyakinthos could tell the classification system was foreign to them. Unlike the soaring crystals of Amaurotine libraries, the shelves here disappeared into the darkness above, a vertical architectural style that was stifling even if they weren’t having an emotional breakdown. Hyakinthos turned on their heel, nearly pitching into a nearby pair of students, muttering an apology as the red light of their glyph flickered in their shocked eyes.

Loitering by the gazebo, Thancred did not notice. Hyakinthos did not spare him a glance as they swept back down the path, following the scent of salt, focusing on its sharp tang, the thud of their sollerets on stone, the wind keening through their ill-gotten armour, air displaced by their thrashing tail. Their breathing came evenly, heartbeat mutinously regular. When they passed a bustling restaurant along the waterway, serving all manner of customers, the stomach that was not theirs gave a little grumble that went ignored.

New sights and smells never failed to ease Hyakinthos’s heart, but for once their heart was too sore and the world too new.

On the path down to the docks, a man with a notched ear wearing a backpack waved Hyakinthos down. “Hail, Champion!”

Hyakinthos nodded back. According to G’raha, T’amih was a man of few words even to friends and family, which was convenient for Hyakinthos.

The stranger grinned, sandy tail flicking from side to side. “Fine afternoon, isn’t she? Skies are looking doom and fire-free!”

“A fine afternoon indeed.” Hyakinthos smiled faintly.

The stranger chuckled and went on his way. “You have a good one, Champion!”

Hyakinthos continued thoughtfully. A trader, or deliveryman perhaps – here for supplies required for the day-to-day functioning of the city, or at the very least, a household. A city full of lives lived, using technologies dreamed up or half-remembered from the past – the aetheryte in the plaza, sculpted like a conch shell – the world Hyakinthos once fought to preserve. Fought with Hades, their bitter arguments turning the house upside down, before Hyakinthos left for good. The Scions made no mention of him, nor Hythlodaeus, though they knew they were only given the broadest strokes. All those souls inside Zodiark, released into the aetherial sea…Hyakinthos had many questions but trying to pin them down was like trying to grasp sand.

Beneath it all was the roiling sense that everything had gone wrong somewhere but Hyakinthos did not know where. The Scions mentioned the Elpis flower and time travel – a thought that chilled their bones with its gravity – and yet escape into an idyllic past was never an option. Nor would the Azem of the past welcome the price Hyakinthos paid to return…and it would be a price paid, for Hyakinthos knew they would not be able to bring themselves to leave once they arrived.

Their borrowed boots carried their borrowed body to the pier. That statue – Thaliak, G’raha said – stood in the harbour, towering above merchant and pleasure vessels coming and going. Just another normal day.

“Considering a swim?” Thancred flopped down on a crate beside them. “I wouldn’t recommend it – ships have to dump all that waste somewhere.”

“You’re speaking from experience?”

Thancred huffed a laugh. “I grew up in Limsa. I’ve seen worse.”

Hyakinthos thought of the pirate city and hummed. Their own childhood was sheltered in comparison – until Venat picked them up in their seventeenth summer. “I grew up rather sheltered, in the woods. Small town…followed my brother around until I left.”

“Oh? Not so different from T’amih, then. Though his brother left first, and T’amih followed in search of him…”

Hyakinthos chose not to mention that technically, Evrotas also left first. “Did he find him?”

“...eventually. It was not what you might call a happy reunion.”

Hyakinthos thought of the souls awaiting them in the aetherial sea. “To return to the star once you have given the world everything you have is the greatest honour…or so it goes. Perhaps it is how I was raised, but I have never considered my work done. One does not simply run out of love to give…but this is not my world.”

“‘Tis the same star, albeit changed,” said Thancred thoughtfully. “But I catch your meaning. Though it isn’t as if T’amih set out to protect his world either…he never meant to be anyone’s hero. He just wanted to protect his family. And he failed…not an uncommon story around these parts.”

“Don’t push yourself to win my sympathies. I have no desire to stay.”

Thancred shook his head. “I’m telling you, since you’re not likely to hear it from him. And…I just want you to understand him. He needs people who do.”

Hyakinthos smiled humourlessly. If this man made an effort to understand them in turn, they would not be having this conversation. “I won’t be of much use if I’m just going back to sleep.”

Thancred shrugged. “Who knows if you’ll wake up again when he needs you, when you least expect it.”

“Oh I don’t know, I’ve quite the busy schedule these days…”

“I’ll bet…you don’t have to let G’raha drag you all over the place if you don’t want to go.”

Hyakinthos smirked. “Is that what you told T’amih?”

“Yes but you’re not a fool in love.”

Hyakinthos laughed at that. “Not for G’raha, that’s for sure.” They tried to suppress the pang in their chest.

Thancred’s expression clouded over too. He fell silent for a while, gazing out over the bay. “In my line of work, you learn to trust your gut. I couldn’t shake the feeling that one day, when all the chaos was over…he’d up and disappear. Job done, world saved, see you never – or something. Not that the world ever stays saved, so I thought it a mere bout of paranoia on my part, but now…”

Hyakinthos thought of G’raha, rubbing his wrists, admitting he had no idea who Myste was. Thancred had known, however. “He seems…distant. I understand why you’d be anxious.”

Thancred grimaced. “He cares deeply for us. It’s just how he is…always moving on to the next adventure. Though I never thought he’d get someone like you involved.”

“That makes two of us. From what G’raha’s told me, none of you even knew this was possible.”

“Your people can change bodies like clothes if they so desire – but you were pulled in against your will. Or rather, woken up. Only a Paragon can do that, as far as we know.”

At Hyakinthos’s querying eyebrow, Thancred looked away. “An organisation that exists no more. Our old enemies.” He jumped to his feet. “Do you remember your way back? Ask for the Baldesion Annex if you get lost – I trust you won’t wander off too far.”

“Got it.” Hyakinthos wondered what they had done to earn the modicum of trust they had apparently gained. They and the Scions had a working relationship, but they knew far more than Hyakinthos did, to their consternation.

As they watched him go, they felt the sticky sea wind tug at their stolen body. It was an anchor, a reminder of their duty, as well as a shackle – as much as Hyakinthos wished they could simply drift away into the aetherial sea. And though they were glad the Scions were rather reticent about Elpis, there was a persistent feeling of something missing. 

*

By the time Hyakinthos returned, the Scions had sourced an array of crystals, arranged haphazardly in small crates. “This is all we could get on short notice,” G’raha said apologetically. “Though Amih’s aether reserves are impressive, they cannot be compared to an Amaurotine’s, and you did look rather pale after Myste…”

Hyakinthos grimaced. “That boy took more than his fair share, don’t ask me how.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again,” said Krile. “In any case, the crystals are yours to use. I trust you need no further instruction?”

The boxes hummed with power. “Manipulating aether is like breathing to us.” Energy curled up and around Hyakinthos’s arm, pure and patient.

“Can’t say the same, I’m afraid,” said Thancred from where he stood, leaning against a bookshelf. “I’ll be sitting this one out.”

“Talk us through this summoning spell of yours,” said Y’shtola.

“It’s nothing so complex,” said Hyakinthos. “The aether-intensive part is the vessel. I could summon them in spirit-form, but that tends to be more volatile, and we have questions that need answering. In this version of the spell, our base requires astral aether – ambient is usually sufficient, it’s more about technique and timing…”

The intensity of the Scion’s attention was startling and a little embarrassing. Hyakinthos was more used to being lectured at than giving their own, but summoning magic was an area they were completely comfortable with. As Urianger and Y’shtola harried them with questions, Krile clapped her hands.

“Right, let’s save this for later, shall we?” She shot an apologetic look at Hyakinthos. “Sorry about this – you could say it’s in our nature as Sharlayan scholars.”

“No apologies necessary – it was nostalgic.” Hyakinthos drifted a hand over another box of crystals, feeling revitalised. “Though I’m told I’ve always learned better by practical demonstration.”

Delving deep into the murk, Hyakinthos felt around with their mind, identifying the vague shapes of at least two separate entities. One was resistant – no matter how they grabbed and prodded, it slid away like a fish back into the waves. The same elusive creature from last time, in all likelihood. With a grimace, Hyakinthos tightened their grip on the other being and began to construct a single temporary body.

“Ah.” A figure in fur-trimmed armour materialised with a burst of light. “I thought this might happen sooner or later,” he said in a drawling accent. “Er, hello there. Name’s Ardbert.”

“Hyakinthos. A pleasure.” They nodded. They didn’t feel nearly so drained this time around.

Ardbert peered at them. “Good to finally see your face. Only, it’s not yours, is it?”

“I was hoping you could help with that.”

“Don’t have much to tell, I’m afraid.” The warrior looked around at the Scions. “If only he knew how much you all want to see him…nothing we say gets through.”

“You mean he’s still in there somewhere?” G’raha asked.

Ardbert blinked at him. “Oh, well. Yes, Exarch. Sleeping safe and snug as a barncat. We’ve tried waking him but there’s only so much I can shout for so long.”

Hyakinthos closed their eyes. That explained the noise. “I don’t suppose you know how I woke up?”

Ardbert held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with that. We always knew you were…around. Not like we could see you or anything. It was just a feeling. Had no idea you were one of the ones the Ascians wanted to bring back so badly.” He frowned. “That’s how it was for me, at least. Those two are a bit hard to read.”

Hyakinthos tilted their head. Before they could ask, Urianger spoke up. “You are suggesting T’amih’s soul harbours further entities?”

“There’s me, Myste and Fray,” said Ardbert, counting them out on his fingers.

“Do they also hail from other shards?” asked Krile.

Ardbert shook his head. “Not sure myself, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Sorry I can’t be of much help.”

“The circumstances of your…Rejoining were unique,” mused Y’shtola. “We mustn’t assume all inhabitants of the Source are running around with dormant personalities hidden away.”

“That is a thought too terrifying to entertain,” agreed G’raha.

“There is someone who was able to see me back when I was just a ghostly presence – apart from T’amih, I mean. In that city under the sea…might be worth a shot.” Ardbert’s attention was once more fixed on Hyakinthos.

“If it still exists,” muttered Thancred.

“An enchantment of such skill and scale will not dissolve within a span of mere years, absent though its architect be,” said Urianger.

Hyakinthos sighed. An underwater city seemed like such a fanciful notion, but the Scions remained deadly serious. “Alright, that’s our next destination.” A weariness tugged at the edges of their awareness, but they straightened. One last task, then they could finally rest.

“Before that, a visit to Beq Lugg may be prudent,” added Urianger. “The Nu Mou is well-versed in soulcraft and remains a staunch ally of the Crystarium.”

“I’ll write a letter to Lyna,” said G’raha. “The captain of the guard,” he explained to Hyakinthos.

“Then we have our next course of action. Thank you, Ardbert,” said Hyakinthos with genuine feeling. “You have been more than helpful.”

The warrior regarded Hyakinthos thoughtfully. “For what it’s worth, T’amih trusts you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. That’s what I think.”

Before Hyakinthos could reply, he disappeared in a flurry of light and they felt something return to them. With a sigh, they wondered if the hero of this realm was used to living under constant supervision from a cadre of opinionated observers. Though, as the Scions hurried to discuss their various tasks, Hyakinthos thought they’d take Ardbert over Myste any day.